Day 11 - Almost the end of end to end

From: Fort Augustus
To: Golspie
Miles today: 85
Miles – running total: 871

I start tonight with an apology to Mandy, whom I mistakenly renamed as ‘Wendy’ in last night’s missive. We have few enough readers without me offending those that we do have by getting their names wrong. My top tip for remembering people’s names is to find something that rhymes with it. Works every time. Well, almost every time.

I left you in suspense last night as it was all about to kick off at the Whitebridge Hotel. Four skinny middle aged (push) bikers against the Hairy Harley Chapter on their UK tour. I thought things were going to go pear-shaped when Stephen opined rather loudly in the bar that anyone over the age of 30 with a ponytail, arm to arm tattoos and a girth exceeding 40”, should be imprisoned without trial and confined on an indefinite basis. Fortunately our bearded biker brethren were too taken up with their plans for the following day, which involved going on a steam train from Fort William, which when not chuffing around the Highlands is the Hogwart’s Express of Harry Potter fame.







Loch Ness



The day dawned bright and sunny and stayed that way all day long. We reached our starting point at the foot of Loch Ness and followed along its entire length before pressing on for Inverness. I am ignorant of the meaning or significance of “Inver” but there are an awful lot of them around here. We have been through Inverbeg, Invergarry, Invergordon, Inverness and, for all I know, Inverjimmy.

Another day, another bridge, this time at Inverness

We cruised into Inverness a little after midday, passing through en route to the A9, the main road going north and east. Our journey over the last 24 hours has gone from the west coast to the east, in a north easterly direction. We climbed out of Inverness for quite a while, initially along some country roads masquerading as cycle lanes. The climb was rewarded with a very long stretch of gentle downhill, allowing us to pick up speeds of 25mph+. Nick was leading and as we swept down the hill to the Cromaty Firth and the bridge crossing it, a sign came up that we had been waiting 11 days to see. It said “John O’Groats 111 miles”. Our momentum was such that we couldn’t stop for photographs, but we knew the end was in sight.



Bridge over the Cromaty Firth

Lunch awaited in a fine restaurant, by our rather low standards. Sitting beside the bay we were able to watch seals cavorting in the water and sunning themselves on rocks. If only we could have done the same.

The afternoon brought with it 36 miles of mostly flat terrain. And normally we might have laughed in the face of such a meagre number of miles but the combination of sore bottoms and at times a goodly head wind meant we had our work cut out. We started stopping after every half hour for bottom relief. The road dragged on interminably as we now headed up the east coast. It was sunny, the scenery was fine and yet we were near enough to the end to want it to be the end.

We pulled in to Gospie at getting on for 6pm. The final five miles had not so much been a late charge as the evening rush hour. We had a wonderful downhill section about five miles out, with sweeping curves and a velvet smooth surface. By the time we hit the flat we were speeding along at 20mph and sustained the pace into and through Gospie, hoping to trigger the electronic “Slow down” sign.

This was Alastair’s day. The whole trip he has been wanting to lead but we have had to restrict him for fear of getting lost. To say Alastair lacks a sense of direction is an understatement of incalculable proportions. Only last night in the hotel, while I was typing this very blog in our shared room, I heard this plaintiff voice somewhere in the hallway, calling my name. Alastair was lost, forgotten our room number and had knocked on two other doors already. But today, north of Inverness we got on the A9 and stayed there for the rest of the day. We pointed him in the right direction and let him loose.

So after all the bottom aching miles, we have one day left. We are following the coast road all the way to John O’Groats. We have only found out this evening that 25 miles in there is a 1:3 climb that is not to be taken lightly. It is steep enough that there are run off lanes for lorries. It’s not good news but somehow I think we relish the challenge. We have circa 72 more miles to do. And one major hill. There is not much at John O’Groats to mark our arrival, no brass band, no dancing girls, no ceremony just the satisfaction of knowing we did it. “A demain” as they say in Spain.